


Agent of Convenience

by SilkHandkerchief



Category: Skip Beat!
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21875476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilkHandkerchief/pseuds/SilkHandkerchief
Summary: Some men are too great to be contained by the job they deem their calling. Yukihito Yashiro is one of those people. Armed with nothing but his fate-decided vendetta against portable electronics, can he return to managing the actors under his care?
Comments: 9
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AkisMusicBox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkisMusicBox/gifts).



> Many thanks go out to AkisMusicBox who wanted to know what Yashiro was upto in his free time when I inquired around for a subject for an impromptu short story. This kind of resulted. Whoops...?

## 1\. Agent of Convenience

“If you do not wish to do the advert, that’s fine. But it would be good for your career; ties never do badly among the female demographic. Bowties are the exception, but you won’t be expected to wear one of those.”

Yashiro continued to give Ren his patient stare as the latter just stared out of the window. Child-locking the car did have its advantages in dealing with this particular specimen; Ren was too socially capable to extract himself from inconvenient situations by attracting the people in the surroundings.

Finally, Ren spoke up.

“But won’t it make me look stiff? Too… old? Unappealing? Things are a lot more casual nowadays, so–”

Yashiro’s phone rang. But he ignored it, continuing to give Ren his expectant stare. Fortunately, the phone rang only once.

“– so as I was trying to say, wouldn’t this be too biased towards the older female demographic?” A sigh escaped him as he shook his head. “That came out wrong, I mean that–”

A small smile crept onto Yashiro’s face. “… you are just worried it will put off Kyoko if your image becomes too much like a young, hip salary worker.” He couldn’t help but playfully poke at the man’s eternal sore spot.

“No. I am worried it will start a trend. If I do something once, they always want a repeat performance. And once the directors start offering roles along those lines, perhaps for a movie or perhaps a television show, then the ship will have sailed. I shouldn’t have to tell you that an actor’s career is bound to the natural progression of time: cute child actor, attractive teen, hot adult, mature adult, handsome uncle—”

“Are you seriously calling yourself ‘hot’ now, Ren? Really?” Yashiro couldn’t help it as he burst out into laughter.

“It’s a figure of speech. In terms of image I am already ahead of the curve - perhaps heading towards mature adult already - compared to actors of a similar age, and I definitely don’t want to be considered for the even older age ranges for another decade. Maturity can become old-fashioned really quick.”

Yashiro’s phone buzzed again, and he reached for it in annoyance. Thankfully, Ren stopped him with a gentle touch of his wrist: right, he wasn’t wearing his gloves. Whew. He started to dig around in the glove compartment to get some, but his phone once again stopped after just a single ring.

He didn’t stop looking: it was best to just put the stupid things on in case someone actually calls a third time. It might be important given their insistence on trying to reach him. “Well, Ren, to be honest I think you are overreacting. Ties are suitable for all ages. Just because black ties especially have an image that goes well with salary workers does not mean this ad embodies the same spirit. It is a young company, and it is trying especially to appeal to the younger demographic. One might even argue that they are trying to make the NEET-generation aware of proper dressing while still trying to address their desire for individual expression. And that is why they need someone with your charisma.”

Ren sighed deeply as annoyed frustration sounded through in his voice. “Yashiro, whose side are you on, here? Mine, or theirs?”

The sounds betraying the rubber nature of his anti-static gloves filled the compartment as Yashiro put them on. “Yours, obviously… when it comes to work. When it comes to being your wingman.. well, someone has to tell you that you worry too much. For all you know, Kyoko has a thing for men in bowties.”

“Yashiro!” Ren’s head finally snapped to look at him from the passenger seat, and despite the increased heart activity in his chest due to Ren’s outburst, he could only face the smile of the cornered beast.

“Okay okay, sheesh. Not bowties. That’s perhaps too sunny an outlook. But normal ties? Have you seen that promotional poster for Box ‘R’? The one where her Natsu pulls that flustered student over his desk? The sex-appeal of that pos–”

“That’s a _role_ , Yashiro! Can you get your mind out of the relationship gutter? Mogami-san and I are _colleagues_ , or at best you could say she is the kouhai I need to look after. Whatever chemistry exists in your brain is limited to that very poster, and has no bearing on my taking this job or not. Or are you now going to use the children safety features to grill me on my love life, too?”

Ren’s hand was gripping his wrist forcefully at this point, and Yashiro’s brain was suddenly far too aware of his own perverted tendencies. Even as words were lacking, that inconvenient disturbing caller came to the rescue. “Excuse me.”

He pulled his hand free and quickly answered the phone. “This is Yashiro.”

“Your presence is required at the Kantiru Cafe in Shinjuku ward in 8 minutes. Godspeed.”

And then they hung up. More-so than Ren’s confrontation until now, Yashiro felt his heart spiking and some very uncouth curses he wouldn’t ever think started coming to mind. Goddamn it, why now?!

“Well… okay, if the meeting has been brought forward, I understand. Mistakes do happen, certainly. I’ll be there.”

He talked to the dial tone for a moment before turning it off, and then looked at Ren, who looked suspiciously at him.

“You have no talent as an actor, Yashiro.” he coolly responded.

“Oh, you realized?” Yashiro responded as he grins in return.

“Mhmmm. The homescreen that appeared halfway through the call gave it away, too.” Ren candidly admitted. “So what’s going on?”

Yashiro sighed. Some things… no, he could not confide. “Old trouble.” he dodged the subject as he disengages the child safety lock. “I’ll call you if I need you, but until then, please remove your oversized legs from my vehicle post-haste. Your Flintstone-esque capabilities are no longer required for now.”

Ren shook his head with a sigh. “What if I just want to talk about Mogami-san some more?” he countered, giving Yashiro the biggest urge to get physical with a man who could easily beat him down a dozen times in half a minute. No. That’s not a solution.

“That’s not an option.” Yashiro responded staunchly even as… damn it. He only just got this stupid phone.. yet it was already to become a sacrificial lamb once more.

He dialed _that_ number. They answered after the first ring, as usual. “Hi, this is Kyoko. Yashiro-san, it is rare for you to call during one of my jobs! Is something wrong with my schedule?”

The last few words filled the small interior of the car as Yashiro switched his phone to speakerphone, and he knew instantly that Kyoko was still Ren’s kryptonite. Some day, he would have to figure out what about her gets him so antsy.. but that would not be this day.

“Hey. No no, nothing of the sort.” he commented airily as he smiled a managerial smile to Ren while lowering his window. “Ren’s phone is broken and he wanted to ask you something. Here, I’ll pass him to you now.”

And then he committed to the sacrifice: the phone went flying out of the drivers side window even as he painfully smiled at Ren. _My premiums are going to go up again…_ he lamented inside as he spoke a sarcastic “Oops, I dropped it” that was barely loud enough to where Kyoko on the other end of the phone might hear it too.

His eyes stared at Ren for a full three seconds, during which Kyoko’s surprised and confused voice could only barely be heard courtesy of the phone having landed speakerside-down.

“She is going to worry about you.” Yashiro finally broke the silence

He hadn’t even finished the sentence when Ren pushed open the passenger door and got out, pushing off against the pillar right besides them to instantly leap over the roof in chase of the phone. Even though eye-contact was impossible, Yashiro could feel the murderous air wafting by him… which would have frozen him into inaction if he hadn’t been staring at the clock on his dash. Six minutes left.

The cars engine roared to life, and Yashiro pulled out of the car park with a loud screech before Ren could possibly come to argue with him over the matter. There wasn’t nearly enough time for that!

Five minutes and twenty-two seconds later, he got out of his car which he had just parked outside of the cafe. He was sure he got flashed running at least two red lights, but anything is better than being late. He straightened his tie even as he walked into the cafe, which was almost completely empty.

He wasn’t sure what he expected: a gathering of alcoholics at ten-thirty in the morning? The local knitting club doing their weekly thing?

His uncertain gazes were noticed by the bartender, who approached him with a nod. Not a word was spoken as the man whisked him off to the men’s toilets.

“Whaddya need?” he asked tersely as he swiped his hand over the urinal, which opened up with a click to reveal a handful of gleaming guns. Walther PPKs, shotguns, there was even a neat automatic rifle prepared there.

Yashiro could feel his nerves abandoning him. “Not my M.O. I am afraid.” he responded tersely, and the man shrugged before closing it up again. “Your loss. The Yakuza have long since left their honor code behind. I’d say bullets are more dependable in the modern world than such archaic traditions could ever be, but hey, you’re _the_ man.”

The urinal once more closes with a knock before bringing Yashiro out of the toilets once more. Secretly, Yashiro was happy to be away from there - the mans overly-familiar hand on his shoulder made Yashiro considerably ill-at-ease, nevermind being in an enclosed space with him. The hidden weaponry? That was a reason, too.

“So, mission? Why do you need me?” he inquires with a raise of his eyebrow.

“You don’t know protocol?” the man counters with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m not an agent. Why is that so surprising?” Yashiro responds honestly.

“Heh.” The man smirked as if he had just told him a joke. “Not according to my sources.”

“Agent of circumstances, I’d guess?” Yashiro offers after a late thought.

“Oh. No formal training, huh?” A chuckle escaped the man before laying the sarcasm on thick with his next statement. “Hmmm, we just have something on you, then?”

“Why do you ask?” Yashiro realized he sounded untrustworthy, but there wasn’t much he could do about that. After all: the man was completely right!

He’d accidentally fouled up one of those sensitive operations simply by being in the wrong place at the wrong time one day, and the ensuing investigation had marked him as a resource to exploit to make up for their losses. He might not be a spy, but the miracles of management and political face and favors that go with it are quite universal.

Miraculously, they had never activated him until today, and he had been quite happy that way. The alternative would have been the end of his career, and by association, those under his management. They had even dared threaten LME as a whole if he wouldn’t cooperate, and even though Yashiro was not one to underestimate the President, it is better to underestimate Cupid’s incarnation than to underestimate people who play fetch with nuclear footballs when asked to by those who hold their leashes.

“You scream rookie.” The man smirked as he brought Yashiro to the back door, where a white van awaited, the sliding door wide open. “Get in, Y.”

“Why what?” Yashiro turned around to question the man as a hood was thrown over his head and someone dragged him into the van at the mocking laughter of the man that could probably be considered his handler.

Despite being blinded and unaware of where he was being brought, they did finally tell him what was expected of him.

‘Walk into the maid café. Fry the device used by the hacker without being noticed. Get out.’

That basically summed up his mission. Truly, it was something that was perfect for one of his abilities.

As to why?

They just laughed at him when he asked. And like an idiot, he forced a smile to laugh along without pressing the issue.

Even as he entered the maid café, he regretted. Sure, the girls were cute, but the one thing he did understand was that his target worked for the Yakuza. It involved money meant for the nuclear cleanup of Fukushima? Or the purchase of some of the materials that had been cleaned? He wasn’t sure, and it wasn’t his problem.

“Hello, master! What would you like to drink?”

That embarrassing greeting made him feel like the exact sort of NEET this café caters to. It _was_ his problem. He couldn’t deny the fact the girls were cute despite the way they seemed to enjoy his embarassed expression, but _Yakuza_. If he screwed up… he’d die for sure.

“Well, w-what would you recommend?” Yashiro asked the cute girl who had grabbed his arm and dragged him off to a table in the corner.

In his attempts to ignore his predicament, he had failed to notice that, just like the cafe earlier, this place was nearly deserted. How odd. But then again, it was not even noon yet. NEETs don’t get out of bed until two at the earliest, don’t they?

“Ooh. I could definitely recommend our chai tea with our special home made apple pie with cream. Would you like that, Master?”

Once again, Yashiro found himself cringing at the way the girl addressed him, and his attempt to create distance just meant he ended up awkwardly cornered in one of the chairs. She looked like she was half his age! Everything about this situation just creeped him out beyond description… and yet he couldn’t run away.

He should drag Ren to this place next time. Surely these girls would make him acquiesce to a simple tie-commercial.

“That would be great. How many of you are working right now?” he inquired casually as he glanced around. He had to find the device he had to break, and the sooner the better.

“Oh Master, your appetite is bigger than your boring appearance would make one think. There’s three of us; Miki is entertaining the other customer and Moko is currently doing boooooooo-ring paperwork.”

Moko? Surely not… it is… ah. Doh.

“And you’d be Maka, I’d guess?” Yashiro offers hopefully, realizing the existence of the cutesy naming pattern.

The cute little maid nods happily as she lifts up some of the frills her uniform is adorned with, revealing her cheap-looking name tag. “I am so silly; I should put it more clearly visible, but Moko said it doesn’t look nearly as cute so she lets me get away with it. Master, don’t you like it better this way, too?”

An awkward chuckle escaped Yashiro. “Fine, how about I come with you and tell her she shouldn’t work so hard?” The fact those words were leaving his lips.. more than ever, Yashiro was satisfied there was no way this conversation was ever reaching the ears of those he regularly interacted with. He did not have the quality of self-debasement in the way true actors have mastered. He just … muddled along. In the name of survival.

“Aww, did I displease you, Master?” The girl suddenly gave him her poutiest, teary-eyed expression as he got up again.

“No, no. I just… want to be nice. And polite. And maybe admire… more of your wonderful outfit. And see the pie - that too!” he blurted out word after word after word while feeling the shame cover his cheeks, to the great amusement of the little maid. He must truly look like their typical NEET customer by acting awkward like this, he ruefully realized. Although he was definitely better dressed.. which might be why she was so warmly disposed towards him the moment he came in.

Or is that just customer service? Cold shivers rippled goosebumps into existence on his arms.

Truly, a urinal filled with guns was so much less nervewracking. Even the touchy-feely handler was better for his sanity… or perhaps that is just because that event was already behind him.

“Okay, come come. I’ll introduce you to Moko; and later I’ll bring you to see Miki, too. You’d like her: she’s got a really nice figure that I am really jealous of. It is a shame her uniform plays it down so much, but when we are changing she is like, wow, wham, amazing. You’d really like her, Master!”

Yashiro stiffly followed after the girl, not sure what the hell he could do to find his own confidence anymore. Girls simply shouldn’t talk to men twice their age like this, nevermind trying to sell out their apparently buxxom coworkers! What is wrong with this world?

“Moko. Look, we’ve got a new customer. He’s so well-dressed and nice! He wanted to come say ‘hi’ to you, so can you stop playing games on your laptop already?!”

The little maid was equal parts annoying and cute, and he could tell from the demeanor of this ‘Moko’ that this girl and her did not get along. Yet as she turned around and faced him with a sweet smile, they both turned a shade paler.

“You can’t tell–” His voice rang out in tune with Moko.. no, Kotonami-san’s own!

It was almost surprising how in sync they were, panic having taken hold of both with their eyes blinking and signaling to match, and eventually.. smiled in pent-up frustration when they realized that their senses of confidentiality appeared to align.

“You two know eachother?” Maka inquired with a suspicious expression.

“Mhmm.” Yashiro responded dismissively, unsure what the best excuse was in his current flustered state. He leaned against the bar in the hope to find some of his composure in the support it offered.

When in doubt, it was always best to leave the important excuses to a professional actor. Or actress. That’s a good plan.

“Yes. Didn’t I mention my elder cousin who left all his maid magazines behind and left me here? It’s him.” Kotonami-san offered.

Yashiro felt like crying. Kotonami-san! He wasn’t into … _this_! Not in the slightest! Did she have to embarrass him further?!

“Oh. The pervy one who loves shorter skirts with more frills?”

“… why do you think that?” Yashiro interjected, feeling shame colouring his cheeks as he tried to shift the subject to be about Maka instead.

“Because you are about as red as a strawberry, tee hee!” Maka said before she burst out in giggles.

“Maka, just go get him his order. You probably tried to fob that extra large pie off on him, didn’t you? Here, he’ll take it, leave us alone for a moment now, okay?”

Maka stuck out her tongue even as she went off with a quick wink in their direction - who she truly winked at was something Yashiro didn’t even want to consider - before Moko all but jumped into his arms, holding him into the sort of endearing and close-contact hug that would make the noses of lesser men bleed.

Was this what bliss was supposed to feel like, if one took away all the awkwardness and embarrassment?

“I didn’t expect that Ren Tsuruga’s manager worked for MI5. You are making things hard for me, Yukihitosaaaan.”

Her whispered hot breath on his ear couldn’t possibly feel any colder. Kotonami-san… is the Yakuza operative?!

Crap. He was blown. In which case, he had no more time to give… His hand reached out to the laptop, making comfortable contact with it as he attempted to keep his composure from betraying his action.

“Or should I call you double-o Y? The ghost operative nobody thought existed because he was just that politically convenient?” Moko murmured flirtatiously against his right cheek.

He stiffened up despite himself. Definitely 100% blown!

Yet as her intimate hug became even more intimate and her lips brushed over his ear with the teasing tactile qualities of velvet, Yashiro came to find himself utterly without words… and then he suddenly came to a realization: was she distracting him?!

“Did you know they mockingly call you ‘uh oh, why’? Even in your own agency? Oh Yukihito-san, you must be a true liability created by office politics, and yet here you are, in my arms… a ghost become real.”

Yashiro had no clue how long this blissful torture had gone on when numbness had already taken hold of him. Everything started to go dark before his eyes.

“I am sorry.” he could barely hear her whisper those last few words.

Yashiro wasn’t. In between the tantalizing scents of Kotonami-san’s flowery perfume, he could finally detect the ozone of fried electronics in the air as his consciousness left him.

Mission accomplished.


	2. Big Trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone wanted a second chapter. And uhh.. I guess praise is its own form of effective bullying, since it somehow ended up happening.
> 
> This mess of a chapter is why they tell you to be careful what you wish for...
> 
> (Shoutouts to TinyGranules who commented five months later and in the process reminded me I never published this addendum on AO3!)

## 2\. Big Trouble

Yashiro stirred.

How had he not realized before?

Kotonami-san. A person of many talents.

Of course she was the one! Who else could it be?

And yet, until now, he had been blind.

The day he had seen her in the Curara CM he’d pulled strings to obtain it for Ren, he should have seen it. Yet… he had been narrow-minded. Naive. An utter tool.

He had treated her as just another promising female talent. After all, compared to the unexpected sparkle of the outwardly mundane Kyoko-chan, the refined grace of Kotonami-san had been expected, if not been an outright prerequisite for the job.

Attractive actors and actresses are a dime a dozen, and most of them lean heavily enough on their outward looks to make a comfortable living for the first decade or two of their career. This bit of common knowledge was so strongly ingrained in the experienced manager in him that he had immediately brushed her aside as just another mundane face. A mundane face with great short-term memory, but still a mere mundane face.

The irony– to perhaps every other person in Japan, these two Love-Me members held the exact opposite qualities: Kotonami-san as the gorgeous, promising beauty who would make it big, and Kyoko-chan, the noodle-faced girl who skates by on her friends successes.

And yet, against all expectations, it was his opinion that was being upended. Kotonami-san isn’t just some other talent. No.

Kotonami-san is a _woman_.

An amazing woman filled with grace and a gorgeous smile.

A woman with a sense of fashion.

Hard-working.

_And she smells like roses._

* * *

The blissful dreams that tread at the edges of slumber were suddenly rudely awakened by a blow to Yashiro’s gut that instantly made his body roll up in a fetal position with a groan of suffering.

“Nee-san! Come play soccer with us!”

“Penalty strike-outs! Best out of seven!”

“Nee-san! Nee-san! Nee-san!”

The oddly chipper sounds of hyperactive younger siblings filled the room as they piled on top of the poor manager. His slow-working braincells could only barely keep up with the messy situation that he found himself in– this definitely wasn’t heaven.

Even if the bedding smelled like roses.

Why would it smell like roses? No, more importantly, why would there be bedding? Scratch that, why would there be so many children trying to pile on top of him!?

Is this the latest and greatest development in the world of interrogation, torture and extraction of information?

“Oh. It’s a man. Nee-san’s got a boyfriend!”

“A boyfriend. She’s got a boyfriend. Boyfriend, what’s your name?!”

“Come, let’s play! Penalty shoot-outs! Are you going to marry our Nee-san?!”

Yashiro could only groan wearily as the kids bounced on top of him. The more they bounced, the more he realized he was famished beyond description. When had he last eaten? Ren functions just fine on an empty stomach, so why does the world feel so distant and lackluster to him?

This world simply isn’t fair.

“Oi! Knock it off! Let’s go. Out the door you go!”

“Nee-san! Nee-san! Penaaaa-aaa–”

The ruckus of kids made place for a different kind of ruckus as he heard things flying out of the room by virtue of the Doppler-effect. As the weights bouncing on him lightened, he stuck his head out of the bedding to see Kotonami-san and the final thing– no, final child being sent straight through the paper walls and out of the house.

_Kotonami is from the Yakuza._

The thought suddenly rushed through his mind and sent his heart to race in a way that the rose-scented bedroom had failed to do. She’s indeed the T-Rex among Love-Me members, treating her own family, those adorable kids, like eggs in need of rocks.

Instinctively, he found himself inching away against the nearby wall, but it was exactly that act that brought forth Kotonami-san’s angry glare. A lethal glare. All set on him without the benefit of the doubt an actual set would provide.

“I didn’t hurt them, if that’s what you are thinking.” Yashiro responded with a dry, cracking voice before wanting to smack his own face. As if that T-Rex would worry about those kids getting hurt. As if!

“You just let them into my carefully locked room and introduced yourself as my boyfriend. Do you want to die that eagerly, Yukihito-san?” Kotonami-san’s voice might have sounded sweet to the ear, but he recognised the threat for what it was.

How could he not recognise it? Love-Me Number One was under his care. Her exhausted naps between jobs on long days were filled with anger and voodoo curses that betrayed a reckoning had yet to be received by that poor singer. On any other day, she could hide it, but whenever she gave her full 110% her darkest feelings would come out without filter.

“T-they woke me up!” Yashiro stumbled over his defense, raising his hand up in defense before she’d throw the bag she’d brought with her in his general direction. “You know me better than this, Kotonami-san! I am a professional!”

Poink! Almost out of nowhere, Yashiro’s forehead got pegged by a bottle of grape juice, which then fell into his lap. Despite his anger at being hit, he could only brush his forehead and leave Kotonami-san at raging. If there was one thing he knew, it was that artists need to express themselves and properly vent their feelings if they were to keep from doing stupid things like murdering him.

“Yes, you are a professional.. at causing trouble!” Yashiro raised his hands instinctively as he feared being struck in the face by another thing, but the pair of storebought sandwiches just smashed onto each of his kneecaps with unerring accuracy. “Is this your 72nd mission? No, probably higher. Intelligence might only know of 71 missions and 241 deaths that you are responsible for, but they can’t know everything. If they did, they would have known your identity already, and I would not have this mess to deal with because you’d be stuck at the bottom of Sagami Bay already!”

A silence fell over the room, allowing the playful sounds of kids playing outside to take the stage in considerable awkward fashion. Finally, Yashiro could not help but speak up, consequences be damned. Kotonami-san knows him: surely she’d understand.

“Ehh… it was my first mission, actually. And I think I might have caused that many deaths.. to small electronics. I forget my gloves all the time, you know. But people? For gods sake, Kotonami-san, I am a _manager_ at LME. President Takarada interviewed me personally back in the day! And you know murder is about as far removed from his obsessions as parallel lines are from meeting each other, so how could I possibly have blood on my hands?!”

Yashiro cringed inwardly as he vetted his own words - was he antagonizing her? Whatever the case might be, he was thirsty… so he opened up the bottle and took a sip from it. If she truly wanted him dead, she would not have gone out to buy him breakfast. Right?

“Well, you are double-oh-why, right?” Kotonami calmly inquired as she started to fold up the bedding on the floor.

He almost spit out the grapejuice before it had a chance to go down his esophagus.

“Codename Y, yes.” Yashiro wryly admitted. “Not sure about the double-oh thing you are talking about. I guess it sounds rather fancy, but honestly, with this having been my first mission and all, I’d rather they lost my name and number, you know?”

He intended to smooth things over with the composure and self-confidence he had groomed as Tsuruga’s shield against obsessed maidens, but the aura emitted from Number Two was too frightening: he decided not to do so in the end.

“Horrible lies.” The woman’s growl would have betrayed her disbelief if she hadn’t been radiating it with every bit of her body language. “You would have me believe that your glorious reputation, the shining bright star of MI5, is a lie? That the formerly colonial power of Great Britain has swept into resurgence once more to where they cow the intelligence branches of the powers based in the east on their own home territories, and that we cannot even see through a play of smoke and mirrors? _Do you take us for a fool?!_ ”

Kotonami turned at him with a vengeance, swinging some weapon towards him that he hadn’t even known was anywhere in this room.

Yashiro scrambled to the side, yet the stick hit him squarely on the shoulder, causing the opened bottle to spill onto the ground as he groaned in pain.

“Son of a–! Kotonami-san, I am a manager of _LME_ actors we are both close to! Use that brain of yours!” he exclaimed as he scrambled to dodge the incoming blows. “I haven’t had a chance to use my vacation days ever since Kyoko-chan entered my care. Surely you can’t explain–” he called out as his calf got hit by the bamboo practice weapon, causing him to draw in a pained breath through his clenched teeth.

“You can’t explain all the feats you attribute to me, can you? It’s all hot air!” he raised his voice in defiance as he continued to limpingly hopscotch his way out of the weapons reach. “ _Think, you stupid woman!_ ”

Alas: there was no way to escape that kind of ferocity. As he instinctively looked over his shoulder, he found the weapon landing on his shin, sending him down into a messy tumble on the tatami mats.

The floor might be soft enough compared to the hits, but his glasses did not survive the collision, and the first blood of the battle was drawn just below his lower eyelid, leading to the most uncouth curse he’d uttered in a long time.

“You want me to _think_ , do you?” Kotonami-san hissed as she jumped right on top of him, her jumping stance perfectly embodying the textbook posture for a two-handed hold of the kendo sword.

It was only by the merciful grace of coincidence that he dodged the worst of the blow, making the bamboo sword hit the mats moments before her knees pinned his body down underneath her.

“How about _you_ think?!” Kotonami’s voice thundered through the small room. “The reason you are alive is that airheaded actress! I thought that if you were to die or disappear, her career would fall apart like a pack of playing cards. As her friend, I wouldn’t let a piece of shit traitor ruin her career!”

And yet, Yashiro mused, women were contrary by nature. Why else were his hands the only thing that had come to separate the kendo sword from his throat as Kotonami-san leaned on it with all her weight? “So you didn’t kill me then in order to kill me now?!” he exclaimed in confusion, his face going red as he shockingly found that his gender didn’t give him any of that natural advantage he thought he should have had.

_If I live through this, I’ll finally pick up weight training._

The thought of self-recrimination was but a fleeting one - Kotonami’s matching red-faced exertion interfered far too much with introspective contemplation regarding his past failings.

“I made a mistake because I thought I knew you, Y. Because I thought there might be a mutual respect between professionals. But since you decided to play stupid, you should stick to the damn role and not fancy yourself another Fuwa Shittarou! She won’t trip up a second time, especially not over the likes of you who only pretended to be her friend!”

Yashiro couldn’t respond; loud breathing was all that he could afford.

How could he, as a man, be losing out in strength compared to a woman? Despite having utilized every bit of his strength, he could feel the kendo sword beginning to press down on his Adam’s apple. His airway was being forcibly obstructed, and this was without a doubt the beginning of his untimely end.

The brink of death brought along with it the strange contemplations one would never even consider otherwise.

Who was he?

‘ _Double-oh Y_ ’, the legend that sent MI5 to its latest glory?

‘ _Uh oh, why_ ’, the unsuitable fool who was ridiculed by those in the know?

Or just _Yashiro Yukihito_ , son of the Yashiro family and a manager of LME’s finest?

Was he even an agent?

Had he truly been an agent, he would have fought until the very last second. One would expect no less from someone affiliated with MI5, no less his ill-gained reputation.

Yet he found himself wanting to throw in the towel. To give up.

Clearly, he was not qualified. He was, in the end… a pathetic, spineless manager.

_An agent… of talents…?_

As his head started to swim in the miracles of oxygen deprivation, his bloodshot vision was almost entirely filled by Kotonami-san’s intense expression of determination, her skin suffused with color and perspiration.

And then, he knew.

_An agent… of love._

His hands gave up the struggle, and the sword jerked forward and firmly pushed down his throat and airways to where nothing else could pass.

Instinctively, more than ever before, he could feel the panic of lingering death overtake him. The instinctual desire to struggle and waste his energy in the most useless of ways to try and preserve the essence of his fleshy existence.

Yashiro smiled as he saw what would perhaps be the last bits of imagery his consciousness would grace him with: the sudden shift in his resistance had caught Kotonami-san by surprise, causing her left hand to slip off the sword and onto the floor instead. But this had been the crux of his intention, as it allowed him to see so much of her eyes.

Their noses bumped, and their lips touched.

_One cannot appreciate a rose well enough without being stung by its thorns._

It was a folly to believe that Love Me Number Two would change because of an accidental touching of lips.

Yet, if he was meant to die here anyways, he would be remiss to not explore such a crude measure as his final hallelujah.

He was, after all, an agent of love. In the report that he would never have to write to begin with, he already knew how to best describe this operation.

_Her lips were like the most precious petals of velvet, her breath was laden with the pheromones of passion and her eyes shone with the inquisitive nature of budding infatuation._

The President would definitely appreciate such a report.

* * *

“Oh, wow, Kotonami-san, I never would have thought–!”

“Nee-san has a boyfriend!”

“Why are you hurting him? Did he cheat on you?!”

The sudden sound of a female voice bursting out in exclamation among a chatter of more child-like ones was what saved Yashiro’s life, and yet, the LME employee inside of him regretted the loss of what would have been a very poetic ending filled with romantic connotations.

“No– it is not– what the hell are you doing here? God why did you squirts bring her here? Why did you let them see this?”

Kotonami-san couldn’t have jumped off of him any more quickly, her murderous air exchanged for that of a panicked young woman caught in a compromising position.

Which she was, Yashiro tried to remind himself as he was finally free to curl up into an instinctual fetal position.

Murder definitely qualifies as compromising.

Yet even as he tried to think, all his body was capable of was coughing, wheezing and gasping for the air he had been denied for so long.

_Oxygen, my wonderful Mistress of Fresh Air and Life, I love you!_

Inwardly, he offered a little prayer in the hope that his bodily distress would end before his lovely attacker managed to get rid of the uninvited guest.

_Get rid of?_

Damn. There’s no way a normal young woman could fight that menace off!

Somehow, the manly urge to protect the other gender brought him to squeeze juice out of the adrenal glands that had somehow not made it out during his previous battle for life and death. At long last he could focus on what was happening around him, be it only barely.

“But Kotonami-san, does Kyoko-san know? Wow, and she was so worried about you not showing up to build the set that she sent me over with bags of flu medicine and cough drops, and yet here you are, performing asphyxiation plays with her manager!”

The girl was just babbling and gushing in the strangest form of admiration Yashiro ever heard while Kotonami forcibly removed the underage troublemakers from her room for the second time in short order, but it was all he needed to know.

It was an acquaintance.

Not a very close one, but it was still one of the lost little angels the President had taken in.

He was _safe_ , even if his saner side tried really hard to remind him that Kotonami-san was also one of those lost little angels who tried to just end his existence with every fiber of her being.

“No no, you misunderstand, Amamiya-san…”

Yashiro failed to suppress the little smirk at seeing Kotonami-san panic like that, but the mere movement of his chin reminded him of the way his throat wasn’t anywhere near a functional state, and it sent another wave of tickles and subsequent coughs through his system.

“I don’t misunderstand anything! That’s Yashiro-san who probably can’t show his neck for the next few weeks if he wants to keep his hobby secret, and then there was me, seeing your face so close to his… oooh, wow! I understand now!”

Yashiro could only watch as Amamiya-san grinningly subjected Kotonami-san to the sort of buddy-buddy hug that even he knew the woman hated more than the typical cat does water.

“You are practicing for an ero role, aren’t you? How daring! And Yashiro-san must be into this sort of thing and offered to let you help, huh… that would explain why you betrayed Kyoko-sama!” she laughed with a naughty-sounding inflection.

She didn’t wait for Kotonami-san’s revenge however, quickly bouncing away from the exasperated Yakuza-murderer with a giddish giggle while picking her large bag of apothecary supplies up once more. Approaching Yashiro with a knowing grin, she gave him a wink. “Oh Yashiro-san, you two are so daring, I admire you so much!” she teased him as she kneeled down besides him.

“But you do know they have special leather choking tools for this sort of thing, right? Something like this will cut into your flesh, leave very obvious marks and could even leave behind lasting damage– that’s not very responsible of you, is it?”

Yashiro wanted to speak up, but.. much more than a loud wheezing wasn’t possible for him. The impending pain in his throat when he tried to use his voice quickly corrected him before he even got a sound out.

He could only frown as Love Me Number Three started to search for her so-called ‘asphyxiation play’ remedies. Surely Kyoko-chan didn’t consider those when she gave Amamiya-san the shopping list to mother Kotonami-san around with?

Yashiro felt his blood drain from his face.

One could never know what was going through the mind of Number One.

He might be… in big trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no clue how I came up with any of the things that happened in this chapter, nor where it might be going from here.
> 
> You might as well consider this another one-shot, since I absolutely suck at this 'pantsing' thing.
> 
> (Shoutouts to TinyGranules who commented five months later and in the process reminded me I never published this addendum on AO3!)

**Author's Note:**

> The only purpose this story was meant to serve was to practice my 'third person past tense' because my most recent foray into that was a disaster without equal... and yet...
> 
> Frankly, I never intended to write more than this. It was a prompt for a short story, after all.
> 
> And as of you reading this, I still haven't. I really have not written one more word.
> 
> But to be honest, I do find myself wondering where this might go...
> 
> There's so many details and ideas I scrapped while writing this because it was getting out of hand already...
> 
> So maybe I'll write and post more some day? Maybe I need to practice more? Ugh! No promises!
> 
> (Why can't I do self-contained short stories with a definite ending?!!?! That would solve all my problems. Sigh.)


End file.
